


Of Stars and Cobwebs

by lefiate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Analysis, Gen, Haircuts, Teen Angst, Viktor with a K, Young Victor Nikiforov, viktor is a sad lad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 08:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10486401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lefiate/pseuds/lefiate
Summary: “My moonlight boy.” His mother’s words floated into Viktor’s mind as a silver leafed brush ran through similarly silver hair. “My moonlight boy, you are blessed with all the grace of the night.”





	

_“My moonlight boy.”_ His mother’s words floated into Viktor’s mind as a silver leafed brush ran through similarly silver hair. _“My moonlight boy, you are blessed with all the grace of the night.”_ The brush clinked metallically against the table as he set it down, and nimble fingers moved to braid the mass to tame it. Dull sunlight glowed through splotchy clouds that stained the sky; the day was beginning to come to an end. Only the harsh white bulbs from the vanity mirror and overhead light combatted the shadows from reaching into Viktor’s room.

The boy moved over to the window and touched his hand to the pane. The glass was freezing to the touch, and its thickness distorted the view of the city and his reflection. A warped ghost of a long haired boy stared back at him; pale skin, pale coloured hair, and pale blue eyes faded into the sky in front of him. His face was still quite young looking. He would call it effeminate if not for the sharp points and angles that were beginning to surface. The braid of his hair fell like heavy rope to his side, anchoring him down to the hardwood floor.

Burning orange light now filtered through the pristine windows, the sun setting down underneath the heavy cloud cover on melting snow outside. Viktor soon found his fingers quickly against freezing brass, letting it loose, and lifting up the window in smooth motions. The lingering freeze from a dying winter hit Viktor like the cold ice rising to meet his falling form after a misplaced step, a botched landing, a mistake. The burning heat of the room combined with the frigid cold of the outside made the extremes just nearly bearable. To focus too long on actually feeling comfortable only lead to sacrificing the other was something Viktor always found true. Sacrifice hot or cold, sacrifice emotions or technicality, sacrifice appearance or another appearance. With the thick windows now thrown open, the thrum of the city below played in Viktor’s ears as he leaned on his elbows and inhaled the air, white eyelashes finding each other as his eyes closed. An industrial chorus arose with the beeps of cars, hum of building machinery, trains rumbling from far away, ghosts of conversations from down below, bike rings, steps, clicks, clinks, clanks, crashes of construction.

The reverberations of the sounds of life that could not reach him, no matter how close he was. The thick rope of his hair fell out the window, hanging towards the ground as if trying to reach out to it. Embers of colour glinted in the shine of silver hair.

He’d been growing it out all his life. He couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t cover the length of his body, twirling around him with each spin and movement. He couldn’t remember what it was like without the way it fell in front of his face when it was kept loose, shielding him from the world like a shell.

Long hair that encased his every move was his signature. More so than his actual skating, he felt. What did the pain stakingly created choreography even mean at this point to the audience? His hair had to be incorporated in it all, spinning around him, tying him up like a spider caught in its own web. The audience knew what they wanted from him and the audience knew what he would do for them. The audience knew his looks, his movements, they followed along and predicted his every step. Wasn’t it boring to watch? Even now, the choreography he was learning felt the same as all the rest. They said he was mesmerizing, a prodigy for reaching the top of the figure skating world at such a young age, but wasn’t a story like that just plain boring? His life was just the same as any other prodigy, couldn’t they see how plain he really was even past his persona? Viktor was caught in his own web. No matter how much he struggled to make it different, to be someone else the audience wouldn’t expect or know, his binds tightened mercilessly, choking him.

The audience loved it.

_“It’s a weight.”_

“It’s a waste.”

 _“So what do you want me to do then? Why can’t I do what I want? I’m not yours,”_ the boy bolted away from the window, braid dragging behind his quick movements. He pulled the handle of the drawer of his vanity open brusquely, disturbing the items inside and picked up a pair of large black scissors.

 _“I’m not yours,”_ Viktor yanked down on the hair tie that held the braid together, and long, spider web strands fell loose, free from its binding. A quick flick of his head to the side shook it apart and immediately covered his form and vision like a sheet. Slender, pale fingers found their way in the loops of the scissors’ handles, it’s harsh plastic curves already digging into the prominent bones. _“You don’t know me,”_ He grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled it taut. Tears of frustration that refused to fall burned behind his eyes as he made the first cut.

Silver hair fell limply to the floor.

Not stopping, Viktor repeated his motions wildly. Haphazard, choppy cuts and still air fell in place of the locks. Short stray strands fell across the shoulders of his black t-shirt like the trails of stars falling through the night sky. Scissors snipping was the only sound that entered his silent world. The burning colours of the falling sun beyond his window were gone now, and heavy blue shadows filled his room in replacement of the warmth he couldn’t feel. Viktor felt himself get lighter and lighter as he freed himself from the ropes and strings and threads and cobwebs that had bound him his whole life, cut by cut.

One last snip and the clunk of scissors thrown in spiteful finality onto the vanity echoed in the room. Outside, a quiet hush had settled as life returned to stillness in the curtain of night. The boy drooped his head down towards the ground tiredly, scanning over the locks of fallen hair and processing what he had just done to himself. Idly, he reached the hand that once held the scissors to his hair, feeling the brush of soft, choppy locks. He could feel the gentle movement of air on nape of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine. Viktor admired his handiwork in the mirror, his form illuminated by bright white lights. A sense of defiant satisfaction whelmed in his chest. He grinned widely to himself, before flicking off the mirror, the room settling into moonlight.

 

* * *

 

The crowd quietly babbled amongst each other, a grand hushed whisper throughout the stadium. Harsh overhead lights illuminated the white ice brightly, where reflections of the pop of camera flashes and the foggy, warped reflection of the audience lay underneath etched in lines that flowed and curved like poetry.

“And now, the final contestant, last year’s gold medalist, Viktor Nikiforov of Russia, coached by Yakov Feltsman. Prior to the beginning of this competitive season, we’ve received word that the original routine for his free skate he had planned had been changed suddenly due to issues that arose during the off season. Nikiforov has also neglected to see interviewers thus far. We can only wonder just what has happened for the skating prodigy to shrink from the world so suddenly,” the announcer’s voice reverberated through the stadium. “His short program will be to _Airs de ballet: No. 1_ of the play, _Parysatis_ , while his free skate has been changed to be performed to the _Bacchanale_ of _Samson et Delilah,_ both pieces composed by Camille Saint-Saëns.”

The skater-coach duo stepped from the darkened hallway towards the light of the open rink. Immediately, Viktor could feel the breath of frigid ice blow across the nape of his open neck, setting his already excited nerves aflame. Yakov’s large hand rested lightly on Viktor’s shoulder, a sense of warm comfort. Viktor slipped out from under his coach’s hand and skated easily on the ice, once again making his way to Yakov, who waited outside the rink’s edge.

Yakov’s hand moved to correct an out of place lock of hair, smoothing it back into the now short silver bangs. The hand settled lightly back on the top of Viktor’s head as if to ruffle his hair; if it wasn’t right before the competition, the boy knew he would’ve.

“Be good out there,” Yakov stated simply, as he removed his hand from the top of Viktor’s head. Viktor smiled wordlessly back, eyes cast downward to his pale fingers that hung onto the edge.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” the announcer’s shocked voice cut through, the simple word warmed Viktor’s core like a fire and an easy smirk found its way on his lips, “Nikiforov seems to have cut his hair short during the off season!”

“Don’t worry, Yakov,” Viktor grinned before darting away from him towards the centre of the ice, the centre of everyone’s attention, “ _this time, I’ll give them what I want.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Viktor should be about ? Anywhere between 16 to an early 18 year old at the oldest in this fic btw, just to mention  
> But this was more tedious to write than it should've been and I'm disgustingly out of practice, I have to get back into the swing of writing, whoops. Anyways, first YOI fic I've actually managed to finish, hooray :^)  
> Fun thing about this though, while I was writing it and decided to choose the Samson and Delilah piece for the Samson aspect of it, I didn't actually realize that Ashley Wagner used it in her own free skating program in 2014! So that's cool  
> If you wanna hear the pieces though here they are:  
> Short Program: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjuIMU8T4TM  
> Free Skate: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjRiLKSPbqc / https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtZH2_e0DBw&t=0s (there's Wagner's performance)  
> If there's any mistakes you spot that I should fix up please tell me! Thank you <3


End file.
